


paint myself in revolutionaries' colors

by i_was_human



Series: the children we were are out of reach [8]
Category: Lost in Translation (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Internal Conflict, Junsu (Lost in Translation) & Kang Dongho | D.Min are Brothers, Les Misérables References, Literary References & Allusions, No Beta, Relationship Study, Siblings, Unreliable Narrator, aged-down characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_human/pseuds/i_was_human
Summary: "Little people know, when little people fight, we may look easy pickings, but we've got some bite. So never kick a dog because it's just a pup! We'll fight like twenty armies, and we won't give up! So you better run for cover, when the pup grows..."-Gavroche, Les Misérablesor: a study on dongho and junsu's relationship
Relationships: Junsu & Kang Dongho | D.Min
Series: the children we were are out of reach [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966099
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	paint myself in revolutionaries' colors

Dongho's never been one for revolutionary fervor.

No - that honor would go to his little brother. Junsu breathes in shades of blue and red and white, footsteps leaving trails of paint on the floor of his room, and Dongho's never been able to associate any word with the trifecta other than _revolution_ , other than _disobedience_ and _war_ and something achingly, beautifully dangerous.

Junsu's always been one to flirt with danger, Dongho thinks.

But while Junsu's painted in the shades of revolution, Dongho's scarred for his obedience.

His parents painted him in shades of white scar tissue and violet bruising, taught him how to lie and cheat and deceive, and that's something that's never quite gone away.

He's good at lying.

Always has been.

But Junsu- Junsu _isn't_. Junsu isn't, and that's so painfully, achingly obvious every time he sees his little brother rendering a portrait in shades of blue and red and white, achingly obvious when he catches a glimpse of a dog-eared copy of _Les Misérables_ on his little brother's side table.

( _"the cops are here,"_ eponine wrote, and marius, existing in a different world entirely, gave her five francs.)

And yet it's this gap that divides them, this gap of revolutionary colors turned into those of pain that widens the chasm, and try as Dongho might, nothing seems to bridge it.

Perhaps it's more his fault than he'd like to admit.

Still, he sees it - the way Junsu almost reminds him of himself, back before shades of blue and red swirled together into the mottled violet of a day-old bruise - and a part of him longs for all the lost _could-have-been_ s.

He could've been something.

He could've been- could've been something _better_ , something _more_ , something _free_ , but his heart has always been painted in the colors of his own revolution, and so he stays.

(is it really revolution if it's a revolt against common sense and dreams?)

A question for another time, as most things are.

* * *

Dongho's just toeing off his shoes when a floorboard creaks, and he raises his head, gaze landing on Junsu's paint-smeared form.

Ah.

"You're leaving paint on the floor," he uselessly states, and Junsu wrinkles his nose, stuffing his paint-coated hands into his hoodie pocket.

"So what?"

"Nothing."

Dongho stares at the dark smear on the floor, unsure of _what_ shade of violet it is, but knowing somewhere that it must be violet nonetheless.

After all, it seems to be the end fate of all revolutions. You can't have the blue of peace and the red of war without the deep violet of power and pain.

"...why'd you leave?"

Dongho blinks, forcing his gaze away from the smear on the floor, and _oh_.

Junsu's looking at him with wide wide eyes, the distant streetlights reflecting in his pupils, and Dongho hesitates for a moment, hands balling into fists at his side.

What can he say?

"I wasn't doing well enough," he finally replies, and Junsu tilts his head just slightly as he stares at him, disbelief written over his face. 

"Really?"

Dongho honestly doesn't know why he's surprised.

It's a base understanding for him, after all. 

Junsu's gaze softens, and he rubs his socks against the floor, lips taking on a pained twist. "That sucks."

"Nn."

They stand there in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the resounding _click-click-click_ of the grandfather clock before Junsu heads towards the stairs, socked feet leaving paint smears over the carpet. 

"Go to bed. It's late."

Dongho, unsure of what else to do, follows.

* * *

The thing is-

the thing is. 

The thing is, Junsu flaunts his colors like a revolutionary's flag, and Dongho _fears for him_.

Their parents are powerful, dangerous, connected, and Dongho sees so, so much of Les Misérables in Junsu - sees so much of Gavroche in him, sees the confidence, the recklessness, the brilliant joy to be changing things - but Gavroche died a slow, painful death chasing freedom, and so too, Dongho fears, shall Junsu.

Not _literally_ \- he'll be spared that, at least - but in all the ways that matter. 

Call him overprotective, fearful, the Eponine to Junsu's Gavroche, but he'll keep his little brother safe as long as he can.

Even if it leaves marks on his arms, even if it smears more violet over his bare skin, even if death takes him instead-

he's going to keep Junsu safe.

After all, Junsu shines so, so brilliantly, and Dongho _knows_ that's something their parents will want to see extinguished.

Cover the smeared violet with suits and ties, pretend there was never any paint to begin with, and you can get away with anything.

This, Dongho knows well.

It's always been like this. 

It's always been like this, ever since his parents sent him off the States alone. It's always been like this, ever since his parents put the blame on Dongho's skinny shoulders and told him to be better.

It's always been like this, and Dongho never dreamed of changing it.

Never dreamed of coloring the empty walls of his old apartment, never dreamed of filling the space with things that were _his_ , never dreamed of breaking away from his parents, and though he wants to, knows he should, knows he _has to_ , he still wants their love.

Why?

Why does he want something that's only doomed to kill him in the end?

He wishes he knew the answer.

* * *

Sometimes, Dongho envies Junsu.

It's so, so easy for him to put a finger on what he feels - rebellious hatred, a desire for peace and home - while Dongho slingshots between a desperation for love and a desperation for _just wanting out_ , and it-

he just wants to understand.

He wants to understand how Junsu can paint himself in revolutionaries' colors without fear, wants to understand how he can express himself like this, wants to understand how he _doesn't care_ , but he can't.

He can't.

He's always been painted in shades of disobedience and failure, after all, and nothing's ever going to change that.

**Author's Note:**

> wrote all of this listening to winter's lament by rival consoles so uh go listen to that
> 
> apologies for the copious amounts of les mis
> 
> also i really wanted to express how conflicted dongho feels. wanting out but also wanting his parents' love, fearing for junsu but also envying him... he's just so fun to write in this au 
> 
> [twit](https://twitter.com/i_was_human_) | [lit fic discord!](https://discord.gg/CNunB74)


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